


wandering stars

by Val Mora (valmora)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demon Dean, M/M, Post-s9
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-20
Updated: 2014-11-20
Packaged: 2018-02-26 09:59:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2647769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valmora/pseuds/Val%20Mora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of course Dean's not in Heaven. It's still closed. </p>
<p><i>With the Mark,</i> Hannah sings to him, low with sympathy, <i>he would not come here anyway,</i> and all of Castiel seizes in despair. Dean with his bright soul and his righteousness, the honor and love and self-sacrifice of him. Dean would prefer to be unmade first.</p>
<p><i>He doesn't deserve that,</i> he tells them, determined, and flies down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	wandering stars

**Author's Note:**

> This fic takes place immediately after 9x23.
> 
> I remember reading a fic in Good Omens fandom whose premise was somewhat similar to the premise of this fic. That was at least ten years ago. Any resemblance or dis-resemblance to that fic is entirely accidental. 
> 
> What is not an accident is a resemblance to orange_crushed's [Fata Morgana](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1677650), an entirely superior piece of fiction.
> 
> Title is a very loose reference to Jude 1:13.

He wakes up bitter and awash in rage and in pain, and already knows from being able to see the light of the wards in iron in the walls what he is. What he never wanted to be.

He's gonna kill Sammy. Rip out his guts, turn his lungs to soup, make sushi out of his muscles.

Or not, because human him wouldn't. 

Dean breathes in and thinks, _Fuck, I wish Cas could help_ , with that little reflexive echo that he liked to think meant he was thinking it hard enough to be a prayer, and then cuts it off. The last thing he needs is Cas showing up and seeing what he is now. Fuck. Fuck. He never even told him - he'd kept thinking he would, someday. Maybe. If Cas didn't flap off to Heaven. Fuck. 

It's the middle of the night. He packs up his bag, skirts the edges of the walls, the traps in the floor, and gets the fuck out. Wipes his eyes as he starts his baby up and drives into the sunrise.

 

 

He hears the prayer in Heaven, in the middle of what could be best described as spectral vomiting. If his Grace were a fuel gauge, he's about to hit a quarter tank, and he is not doing well.

_Fuck, I wish Cas could help,_ in Dean's voice, and it's him, it's _him_ , not burned out by Metatron's blade, dead but not gone, and he flares his wings, crying out, _Dean, Dean, where are you,_ to find him his friend, but there is only silence.

Of course Dean's not in Heaven. It's still closed.   
_With the Mark,_ Hannah sings to him, low with sympathy, _he would not come here anyway,_ and all of Castiel seizes in despair. Dean with his bright soul and his righteousness, the honor and love and self-sacrifice of him. Dean would prefer to be unmade first.

_He doesn't deserve that,_ he tells them, determined, and flies down.

 

 

The gates of Hell are a thousand times his size, and always will be; they admit all comers, willing or no. 

There are guardians there, now. _Who goes there, angel,_ they cry, in the ringing-terrible true speech of demons, and Castiel tightens the beam of his being, the spaces between his electrons where he can, in reaction. 

_Tell me where Dean Winchester is,_ he says, in Enochian, which demons understand even when they don't want to, though they can't penetrate the method that angels use to communicate with each other.

_Why should we tell you? Who are you to demand things of us?_

He eliminates one. 

The rest tremble before him. _Dean Winchester,_ they sigh, _Dean, Dean, the Saved One, he who was risen from this place, the Regent._

_Tell me where he is!_ Castiel cries. His stolen Grace falters, flickering cold and tired inside him, as he is cold and tired and unwell. 

_We haven't seen him but we wouldn't, we wouldn't, the one who bears the Mark of Cain is lord of Hell when Lucifer-the-Caged is not enthroned. Dean Winchester wouldn't pass through these Gates. You should seek within, angel._

_I won't ask again: where is Dean Winchester._

_We can't help you, angel Castiel; you must go within as you went within before to save him, welcome welcome angel who loves Dean Winchester well._

They offer him no violence and no threat as he enters Hell. It's not their job to keep beings out.

 

 

Hell was formless and void, when he first went: Lucifer had left it empty, and the inhabitants had strung themselves to each other, suspended in smog from each other's bodies, added in meaningless non-patterns. Crowley made them into lines, endless office buildings and waiting rooms with uncomfortable chairs, over-lit hallways, annoying music. The effect was the same – there is no _there_ , in Hell. Castiel can perceive its malleability, some, not all; that was not given to him at his making.

Hell now is somewhere between those things, strange visualizations, often under the control of the leading demon in a given area. Sometimes that demon was in Crowley's camp, but more often in Abaddon's, and the warring factions and visions mean that many souls are busy fighting, and as like to turn on each other as they are on him. It's best this way, and helps him conserve at least a little Grace. 

Dean will have some method of setting things up that Castiel will know, simply from the sense of it, from knowing his mind. He isn't sure whether it will look like the endless corridors of ostentatious rooms, like the one that Zachariah created to hold him for the Apocalypse; or like some anonymous abandoned warehouse where a monster might be lurking to attack; or like the old formless Hell, which Dean knew so long.

So he searches, fighting his way through the souls that seek to detain him and bring him down. He's not uninjured: he's alone, while before there was an entire unit of his siblings with him. Most died. He will finish this, if he can, or die trying, which is more likely. But at least he will find Dean, and help as best he can. To keep his promises. 

He is in Hell, fighting, for three of its months before he hears another prayer: _Cas, are you still alive? I don't gotta see you but I wanna know you're okay._

_I am, I am, wait for me, I will bring you home,_ he sings, and all the souls around him on the battlefield flinch. The Grace within him sputters, breaking down, especially this far from Heaven and any assistance, bleeding out through the secondary wing he lost last month. It will grow back, if ever he can replenish his Grace, though he doubts now that he ever will.

_You'll be bringing no one home,_ says the demon closest to him. Castiel fights harder.

 

 

So he's weak. So what? So he calls Cas after a week, gets his voicemail immediately ("You've reached Castiel. Leave a message," like always), and spends the next three minutes calling Cas's phone just for the answering machine, just to listen to his voice, because apparently being a demon doesn't mean that he isn't still stupid over Cas.

He sends Cas a prayer more out of habit than anything else, has to work not to give him a location so that Cas can find him. Cas can probably get some sort of doctoring-up in Heaven, get his Grace back. Doesn't need to see Dean gone all black-eyed and wrong. 

It's hard, it's really hard, to resist going back to what he was when he stepped off the rack, but he knows what he's really like. It's not easy, but he's doing it, one mile under the Impala's wheels and one smile at a counter at a time. He doesn't need to eat or sleep, but he still likes the taste of whiskey, even if it takes a lot more to get him drunk. He figures he could be a pretty good hunter, since he doesn't feel pain, or need to sleep, or really get scared anymore. But giving Cas his location just can't let him win: either Cas's Grace burned up and burned him out; Cas doesn't want to come at all; or Cas'll come and see what he's turned into and destroy him.

It's probably better that they stay apart. Hell's where Dean was supposed to be, anyway, if Heaven hadn't walked in and interfered so they could try to jump-start the Apocalypse. He's gone demon at last, the way things were gonna be forever and ever, and this time it's better 'cause he's not actually in Hell.

 

 

A group of demons captures Castiel eventually. Angels are valuable, so they don't do more than superficial damage. His Grace is barely sparks by now, so he's not capable of putting up much resistance, and they either don't know how to draw it off, or want to prolong his life.

This is one of the territories held by Abaddon's forces, so they have cells large enough to hold him. He sings to himself, remembering the quietness of the nights spent watching Dean, or watching over him. He doesn't mean to worry over Dean, lost in Hell now that Castiel's been captured, since there's nothing Castiel can do for him, but it happens anyway.

_You shouldn't wait for me,_ he sings quietly, _I can't come to you, though I would have brought you home, were it in my power._

 

 

Two weeks, and he finally calls Sam.

"Where the fuck have you been?"

"Around." Dean used a burner phone. He's going to trash it as soon as this call's done, just so that Sam can't track him down. "You heard from Cas?"

"No. Dean, Crowley said you'd – we can fix this."

"Yeah, I know, the ritual." He's gonna have to go back sometime, at least. Let Sam fix him. He doesn't think Sam would kill him. He thinks. He's pretty sure that he wouldn't kill Sam, either.

"You haven't heard from Cas either?"

"Nah."

"You pray for him at all?"

"What do you think he's gonna do when he sees me?"

There's a pause. He can hear Sam thinking. Sam says, "I think he'd want to help you get better." 

His chest hurts, sudden and sharp. Cas touching him, laying a hand on his shoulder and looking at him all tired, and saying We can fix this. Fuck.

"Yeah, okay." This is probably not the stupidest thing he's ever done, and he'll deserve it if Cas takes one look at him and smites him.

_Hey, I don't know if anyone's listening, he prays, but to any angel who's got their ears on: I need to know if Castiel's still alive. If anyone knows either way, if you could let Sam Winchester know somehow – if you need to send a note, you can leave it in PO Box 172, Lebanon, Kansas - we'd take it as a real big favor. Thanks._

There's a long silence, and then he says, "Check the PO Box in Lebanon, and let me know if you hear anything about Cas. I'll call you."

"Dean –" Sam starts, but Dean hangs up, turns the phone off, and removes the battery. That'll hold him long enough from being tracked that he can put it in the "donate your old cell phone so we can give it to abused women" box he saw at the local library this morning.

 

 

He calls Sam the next day on a new burner and Sam says, "What the fuck, Dean."

"What?"

"There was a letter in our PO box."

Dean's knees decide to take an urgent and immediate break and drop him ass-first onto the bedspread. "Yeah?"

" _To Sam Winchester: I'm writing this note at Dean Winchester's request. Castiel left Heaven three Earth weeks ago, to go look for Dean in Hell. He has not been heard from since, but at that time was still alive. His voice was last heard in Heaven one Earth week ago, traced to an origin point somewhere in Hell. Hannah._ "

He is shit. He is _shit_. Cas is close to dying and he's gonna get caught down there and they'll – Dean has a pretty good idea where they'll start. And then they're gonna kill him, and it's gonna be all Dean's fault because he was too chickenshit to tell Cas where he was. Because he couldn't face telling Cas he was a demon, when Cas obviously knew anyway.

"Thanks, Sam."

"Dean, what are you – "

"We'll take care of un-demoning me later." He's found a couple more Hell Gates since he started wandering, but Samuel Colt's is the nearest one, and hasn't been warded into a demon trap since Azazel took out all the iron and the rail lines. He'll be able to go Downstairs and get Cas out, or die trying.

 

 

He packs light, just what he can carry, what he might need, every trick and trap he can think of a and a few he comes up with while he's doing it, and then walks into that graveyard.

He half-expects Sam or Crowley to be waiting there for him, but they're not. Why would they be? Crowley doesn't care what Dean does, not really, now that he's the undisputed King of Hell and can stay out as long as he wants, and Sam can't track him since he's been using burner phones assiduously, and ditched a set of plates on the Impala twice each week.

He pulls a tarp over her, just in case something happens. Wouldn't want her paint getting scratched or something.

He builds a devil's trap, a small one, around the building where the gate is housed, and jury-rigs a spring to close and lock them after him, then pulls them open. 

He falls. Or maybe steps sideways. It's like leaving Purgatory, being burned up and turned inside out and drowning and being electrocuted, all at once, and then he's on a battlefield, or maybe a slaughterhouse, demons everywhere fighting each other, smoke and strangeness and demons look really, really gross now that he can see what they all really look like.

What he really looks like, he guesses.

He's carrying the Blade, so he uses it.

"Where's the angel," he says, like Purgatory all over again, and when the demon tells him _I don't know_ he ends them, too.

He gets down on his knees in the soul-gore of this scenery, watching it flicker between states. He closes his eyes so he won't know if there's concrete, grass, or smog under him.

"Hey, Cas," he says quietly. "Castiel. Hannah said you're in Hell, so I thought we could meet up somewhere down here. If you can make some sort of sign sometime, that'd be cool. I'll do my best to figure something out." 

He pulls his hands apart. His lips kind of burn, but he's not sure if it's because he's been praying or because he bit them or because of whatever passes for air down here. 

Hell is big. He's got his work cut out for him.

 

 

Castiel trembles at Dean's prayer, overcome with relief and desperation. Dean is free, and is looking for him, as Castiel looked for Dean before his capture.

Castiel will just have to go where Dean is. 

Castiel muffles even the last sputtering of his Grace. It doesn't take much to pretend to be dead. Demons can't see the higher-order functions of his nature, not with him in his true form. He lets his wings fall limp, his hooves and faces heavy on the floor of his prison. And it's not as though he isn't close to dying anyway, weak with it. There isn't much in the way of Grace in Hell.

Eventually, the wardens come to check on him. 

"The angel's not moving," one says, thoughtful. It was once a knight Templar, who asked to be saved from a grave wound on a battlefield in the Levant. It wasn't God who answered him.

"Think it's dead? What's it take to kill an angel, anyway?" says another.

"The commander said it was almost dead."

"Well. We don't want to check on it, in case it escapes."

That's that plan, foiled.

"Let's get the commander, anyway. Don't want it keeping up space."

The commander comes down some days later. It's some higher-level demon, who died in early Christian Rome and was probably originally a woman. He can't sense much with his Grace so depleted, and while pretending to be dead.

"Let's see if this works," she says quietly, with satisfaction, and draws a ward on the wall to immobilize him. He doesn't ask where she learned it. Knowledge of Heaven's weaknesses comes cheaply when one's closely allied to Abaddon, he supposes, and prepares himself.

She hands one of her minions an angel blade. A dangerous weapon to let a subordinate carry. He wonders whose it is. If it's his own. "Cut its throat, if you can find it," she says. "The sigil hampers its powers." 

The demon steps into the room and takes two paces in, yet doesn't sense the anti-demon ward Castiel drew on the floor, and on top of which he's lying. He drew it in Grace, so it's probably too weak. He has so little of it left.

He waits, and waits. The demon comes closer. Bares the blade, point first, at where Castiel's head joins to the rest of his form.

Castiel grabs the blade in one hand, sliding his clasped fingers along it, cutting himself to pieces on the blade, and wrenches it out of the demon's grasp. Takes it up, and kills his way out.

An angel blade can cut through the substance of Hell, too. And this one isn't his – it's some other angel's, some living angel's, and its strength is powered by its owner's Grace. He can't use the Grace, but he can use the weapon. He does. He does.

 

 

Hell is sort of like Purgatory, in the whole _chasing after Cas and fighting a lot of monsters_ thing, including the _your reputation precedes you, Dean Winchester_ crap, only times about a gazillion. Also, he's dead. He's really super-dead, and the more he kills, the more he likes it. It's hard to take a break, though he makes himself. Thinks about _what would Cas think,_ because he's a fuck-up, a sap, in such stupid crazy amounts of love that he went to Hell for it again. Enough that he still knows how far gone he is, despite the blade, despite all the killing he's doing.

After about three Hell days, he realizes that he's got hangers-on. 

"What the fuck are you here for?" He shoves one up against a spectral wall that sure feels like plaster in an institution. One of Crowley's places. 

"We're here to be saved," the demon says. They don't even have a weapon on them – it's over in a demon in the corner, the one that stabbed Dean in the back (great story: that stuff doesn't work anymore. It hurts, sure, but it doesn't _work_ ). 

"I'm not in the business of saving people." He doesn't move. Remembers saying that, before. _Saving people, hunting things_. "Anymore." 

"It's who you are, Dean Winchester." The demon's new. Probably was just freshly-made when everything in Hell went Civil War. "You were Saved, and you've come back for us. For all of us." 

"There ain't much to save down here." He shoves it a little harder. It squeaks. "Who told you that?"

"Everyone's saying it. Crowley tried to keep it quiet – you know, the priests saying that he was ruling on behalf of Sam Winchester, who would come for them, since he's the True Ruler of Hell, and institute a new reign of order. But we know the truth." His attention flicks behind Dean, to the three other minor demons to Dean's left, whom Dean's holding immobile with some freaky powers he didn't have on Earth, even after he'd gone black-eyed.

"I'm not the demon Jesus," he says.

"No." It shakes its head. "Jesus worked for Heaven, if he was real. You're the Righteous Man. You're on the side of justice, and justice is for everyone."

"You all deserved it," Dean snarls. "Even me." He thinks about stabbing them all, but resists. This one, and the others, helped save his life. He'll take it. He can kill them later, when he finds Cas. So that he and Cas can get out of here.

 

 

His numbers of hangers-on grow. He ends up with a fucking army after two months. He enters some terrain that's almost like the old Hell, but with the flapping of angel wings, and bright, too bright, ringing with their voices, and they go and go through that area. It's not like Crowley's or Abaddon's. No bets on whose it is – the terrain keeps changing, this far from the gates to Earth and Crowley's influence. The people who followed Abaddon have lost her vision and everything's chaotic, but this is different. This territory is huge. 

Maybe they're closer to Lucifer. 

He doesn't think so, though. It's not cold.

He stopped trying to tell people he wasn't Demon Jesus after the first week. It's just their thing, he guesses. The religious nuts, and Dean Winchester.

Sure helps in keeping discipline, though, when they all listen to him. Even in this freaky-as-fuck part of Hell, freakier than the rest. Empty, and full of what should be angels who never show themselves.

He's starting to run out of people to question. Gets to higher- and higher-demons, sometimes, when they meet other forces, but most of them have only heard that there was an angel. If they've heard anything at all. Or maybe they remember the angels coming for Dean, all those centuries ago in Hell time. Nothing new or useful.

 

 

Castiel envessels himself. He doesn't look like a demon, not to their sight, but staying envesseled, it's easier to hide. His Grace looks bigger when he's smaller and doesn't look like an angel. His halo is too dim to be seen.

He meets with demons, when he can. Asks about Dean Winchester.

After three weeks, after he finishes asking a mid-ranking demon and lets them go – he's stopped killing them afterwards; the blade he's carrying has a lot of Grace, but he always needs more, and he isn't sure when its owner will cut it off or die - someone says, "I'm looking for him, too."

Castiel turns, brandishing the blade at the demon that's just at the edge of his much-diminished senses. "Why are you looking for him?"

"I want to be Saved."

"What?"

"As Dean Winchester was Saved, so he'll Save us all." The demon's eyes are fever-bright with belief. "He's come back for us."

Castiel swallows down horror. He knows exactly who Dean came to Hell for, and wishes Dean hadn't. "He's carrying the First Blade."

"Who best to end Lucifer, and Hell?" the demon says, smiling. "Come, brother. I'm looking for Dean Winchester's army, too. Let's find him."

"Why should I trust you?"

The demon shrugs. "You don't look like a demon, but you're here, so you need Saving too. He'll accept you. He accepts us all who are fallen, and who want to rise again from here. If he doesn't judge, we shouldn't, either."

Castiel tilts the blade out of guard. "Thank you."

"We're going to the same place," the demon says, and does something with its true form that might be called smiling, if the gesture meant friendliness on that type of body. "Safety in numbers."

So Castiel has a companion, whose name he doesn't know, and who might or might not believe that Dean will lead them out of Hell and to something better. His companion, whose name he doesn't ask for and is not told, doesn't seem clear on whether they believe that Dean will bring demons to overrun Earth and make it like Hell, or whether he will make them no longer demons. There's not enough sanctified blood in the world to rescue all the demons they meet who seem to be looking for Dean Winchester.

Castiel's not sure how this myth spreads – all the people they meet who believe in it, are looking for Dean as well, but nobody's seen him. As though all the people who believe are gone, or stay with him. 

 

 

He meets Bela at the head of an army.

"You," he says, even though he barely recognizes her.

"Me." She blows a kiss at him. "I brought you some friends who don't think you're about to send us all straight to Heaven."

"What do they think I'm gonna do."

"I heard," she says, cleaning her knife on the remains of someone's skin, "that there was an angel looking for you. So I think you're looking to go back up when you find him."

"No."

"No?" Amused disbelief. "What are you looking for, if not that angel?"

"Fuck you," he snarls.

"Like I said." She rolls her eyes. "Don't look at me like that; I've heard what you're carrying. But you want the angel, and probably to go back to Earth, and I want to either rule Hell, or get out of it."

"Like hell I'm letting demons back to Earth."

"Darling, we're in Hell. You and I both have armies. Let's conquer it, find your angel, and then talk."

He looks over the empty space here, surrounding their two forces. One of which is following her for who-knows-what reasons, and the other because they think he's Demon Jesus. "Yeah, okay."

They overrun Hell like water through a sieve.

 

 

Bela finds the angel mostly out of luck; there was a small group of people who joined her following, and one of them, being somewhat unusual and different-looking from the rest, was singled out by her security and brought to her.

She didn't know it was the angel, though, not at first. First, she'd walked around its human-looking guise and said, "What are you."

"I'm looking for Dean Winchester." 

"Looking to be saved?"

It eyed her, looking pissy. "I don't need saving." 

"Not sure about that. What're you doing in Hell?" 

"Looking for him. Do you know where he is?"

And she'd laughed, and had one of her subordinates call Dean over, because if the whatever-this-was wanted to hurt him, Dean could take care of it just fine on his own.

So she's there, when Dean walks in and stops, breathless, frozen.

"Cas," he says, like it's ripped out of him, and Cas turns to look at him.

Bela sighs. Of course Dean Winchester's true love went to Hell to rescue him. Because he's just that special.

"This is the angel?" Bela asks, sitting down in a chair that conveniently manifests itself for her metaphysical ass.

"Not for much longer," Cas says. 

Dean makes a noise. "Why'd you try to come find me?"

"Because you don't deserve to be here."

Bela mimes vomiting and gets out of the way of their heartfelt reunion. It's obvious by now that whatever kind of demon Dean thinks he is, it's not like the rest. Not like her.

 

 

"Because you don't deserve to be here," Cas says, like it's simple as that, like Dean hasn't killed and killed his way through Purgatory and through Hell to find him. Like Cas doesn't even notice that the First Blade is still in Dean's hand and feels like it's a part of him.

"Cas," he says again, helpless, and then hugs him, even though Cas burns up against him, the stuff they're made of incompatible.

Cas's arms wrap around him, heavy.

"I can't take you back this time," Cas says. "I'm not strong enough. But I can stay. If you'll let me." 

"Stay," Dean says, like he didn't kick Cas out of the bunker a few months ago. Like it isn't selfish as fuck. But he doesn't know how to send Cas home again.

Cas strokes his back and then lets go, and Dean steps away. He doesn't feel the sensation of cold anymore, but this feels like cold. "How long until…"

"A few months." 

"Okay." Dean closes his eyes. He can do this. They have a few months to find a way to a gate that Cas can use, that Dean can bring his body up through. "We'll make this happen."

"An angel died to give me this. I'm not doing that again," Cas says. Dean breathes, even though he doesn't need it. He doesn't want Cas to go. Not again. Not after everything they've – 

"What if the angel was really, really bad?" he asks, opening his eyes again. 

Cas stares at him.

"I'm not meant to hold that much energy," he says, but that's not a no, so Dean's taking it as a yes, however reluctant.

Demon. Persuading people to do things they wouldn't otherwise is part of the job.

 

 

They go deeper into Hell, whatever 'deeper' means when Hell's dimensions are not fixed and gravity is mostly a figment of the local power's imagination.

The Cage is large enough to beggar a human mind. Castiel is not human, but even so it is too large to quite conceive. Lucifer is powerful, and anything meant to contain him had to be stronger yet.

The army stops moving forward. Dean's followers seem to be convinced this is a step towards Dean saving them all. Dean's told them to go away before, but they never seem to. They don't believe him when he tells them he can't save them, just end them. That there's no way he's letting an army of demons onto Earth.

Bela is still with them, for her own reasons. Probably she wants to rule it after them.

"So," Dean says, still holding the First Blade, which fits easily in his hand, "let's do this." 

Castiel touches his shoulder. "I don't need this, you know."

"Nah." Dean rolls his shoulders. "It's a curse, isn't it? To live. Might as well see if it can hold up against God's favorite angel." And he walks through the side of the Cage as though the barrier doesn't exist.

Castiel touches the semblance of a chest on his envesseled form and waits for things to end, one way or another.

 

 

While Dean's gone, Bela forments rebellion. Castiel's vaguely aware of it, but he doesn't begrudge her – Dean's told his followers nothing but the truth, that he's here for the angel, and that's all. That his actions seem to have been carrying out their expectations is probably all that's keeping the other demons in line. With Dean gone, fighting Lucifer, it's easier for her to take power.

Dean wouldn't have wanted it, anyway, not really.

All of Hell shakes when Lucifer falls, and then again, some short time later. The Cage evaporates, disappearing now that there's nothing for it to contain, now that what it was meant to contain is gone from existence. 

Dean's there, though. Stepping out of the empty space, enveloped in light too bright to watch. The combination of Lucifer and Michael's power.

Castiel stands. "Adam?"

"He wanted to go," Dean says. His voice rings with power. He touches Castiel's shoulder, and it burns.

"Last chance," Castiel says, morbid, and then Dean touches his forehead.

 

 

He is light and power and Grace, he is purifying and without limit, and he is merciful.

He Saves them, those who ask for it; and to those who wish oblivion, he gives it.

And then he takes his endless-beloved, and goes home.

 

 

The bunker smells like dust and week-old takeout pizza.

"Sammy, we're home," Dean calls, making his way down the stairs, throwing his coat over a chair. "You there?"

There's silence, then some rustling from the hall. Dean left the First Blade in Hell, but his hand still misses it, even though it wouldn't do anything more for him than it would do in anybody's hand. 

"Dean?" Sam's voice is high with surprise. "What are you – Cas?"

"Sam." 

"Dean, how did you – where were you – what are you – "

Dean shrugs. "We went to Hell, kicked ass, took names, came home."

"And you're not – "

"Nah." He quirks the side of his mouth. "Amazing what eating a couple of archangels' Grace'll do for you."

"Holy shit." Sam sits down. Castiel goes over to the table and sits, too, like he's still getting the hang of being human and he's trying to mimic Sam's behavior. Maybe he's just tired. Dean has no idea how much Grace Cas has left, after he put most of Hell into oblivion. He asked, but Cas just said enough and then turned on the radio.

"Sure." Dean gives him a noogie and goes to check out the fridge. Sweet, pizza, and it looks like Sam even got it with sausage. He'll take it. "Cas, you want some pizza?"

"Yes," Cas offers, voice grave, so Dean gets another plate while his slice microwaves.

"That was mine," Sam protests, but his heart's really not in it, so Dean ignores him.

 

 

Later, after the pizza's been eaten, and Dean managed to persuade Sam out of asking any questions, Dean taps his beer against Cas's.

"Dean?"

"You doin' okay?"

"Yes, Dean." Cas's gaze softens, and he picks up his bottle to take another sip. His mouth shouldn't be allowed to exist. "You?"

Shit. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay." For now, anyway. "We'll have to go get the rest of the demons. The ones on Earth." 

"Eventually." Cas stretches. "It'll get taken care of sooner or later." 

He remembers that. The gates closing with a bang that rocked the entirety of existence. Sealed shut forever, or at least until God opens them up again.

"Thanks. For helping."

"Thank you for coming to get me. Even if I shouldn't have needed it." He puts the bottle down.

"Yeah, well." He looks away, looks back. Stretches a leg out to bump his shin into Cas's. "I appreciate the sentiment." 

They sit in silence for a while, before Dean says, "How much Grace is 'enough'?"

Cas looks at him, looks away. "Enough to stay on Earth for another few decades."

His throat is tight. "Yeah? You plan on stickin' around?"

"Yeah," Cas agrees, and taps his bottle against Dean's. "As long as you'll let me."

"I'll let you," Dean says, and his heart pounds. "I want you to."

"Then I will." Cas watches him. 

Dean swallows under the weight of it. "You want another beer?"

"All right." 

Dean gets up, gets two out of the fridge, puts one on the table next to Cas. The bottle opener between them on the table.

"Dean," Cas says, standing, and puts a hand on the back of Dean's neck. Pulls him in kissing-close, but doesn't. Dean's whole body is cold-hot with anticipation, and after a second, when it looks like maybe Cas won't do anything, he takes matters into his own hands.

Cas sighs into his mouth and kisses back.


End file.
